


Remember Tomorrow

by LeafOfTrees



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Drama, F/M, Gothic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-02-07 03:43:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21451471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeafOfTrees/pseuds/LeafOfTrees
Summary: Fortuna was a hopeless place, drab buildings, drab clothes, drab people. Emilia hated it as much as the last small town, but it was better than a cold ditch. If only that man hadn't come into her life, Vergil . . . Things Might have been different, A dark tale of manipulation, magic and the twisted entanglement of youth.~Preview~ Her stare was challenging, that temper reining over the deep-rooted fear. A kindling of those flames he knew burned within her, a blaze which appealed to him on some level, regardless of how he denied it consciously. He refused to cower, it simply wasn't in his nature. Leave? Ha, surely a jest. Curiosity ruled him currently, the man edged closer to the woman, his gaze cold and piercing. The dim glow from the apartment entrance emphasized her pale face, highlighting the fatigue that was so very obvious.He leashed the growl rumbling within his throat and without thought, his hands fixed themselves firmly against her upper arms.He shoved her against her door, and she felt him press into her backside before twisting her around to face him fully.
Relationships: Vergil / OC
Kudos: 1





	1. Raislin And The Rose

I do not own any characters from Devil May Cry, Sadly! However I do own Emilia.

Authors note: firstly thank you so much to my Beta reader Angel Wolf!

rating will be T for the moment however this may change to M through later chapters.

As always feel free to leave comments/ feedback or drop me a PM.  
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Chapter 1

\- Raislin And The Rose

A man walked into an old library, it was a frightfully old construction, made so long ago by human standards. It had to have dated back as far as the sixteenth century.

Vergil was his name, and he dreaded the thought of staying here longer than he had to. Silver hair, a black coat, and a stingy look on his face greeted most everyone.

Emilia Reed was no exception. He walked in to the old building reservedly, not hoping for much. He saw her standing there by the attendant's front desk marking books as returned. She was first assistant Librarian, violet star-flecked eyes stared intently at her task and she frowned, with her lightly-tanned skin, loose-curled dark hair and sharp cheekbones. A remarkable specimen by any standard, he looked at her with an odd, emotionless fascination as she whittled away at the work.

She glanced at the clock on the wall, it had been one hour since she'd started work, and her eyes then turned to the awful cowl that all citizens were expected to wear.

The one thing she hated about this place was the lack of fashion. Like most twenty-somethings, she enjoyed a stylish look and personal freedom; however, she did not like the fit of her red-hooded dress. The colour wasn't what bothered her, per se, it was simply the constricting nature of its waistline. You couldn't breathe in these things, and they looked drab. Red itself was also the colour that first assistant librarians wore, which was followed by blue for second assistants, then green for third tier, and, finally, grey was to be worn only by the chief librarian.

She stood at five-foot-nine-inches of height, and the shape of her was bigger boned than your average woman, especially the malnourished ilk he'd seen roaming this backwater town.

A shame to wear such shapeless coverings, the dress itched, scratched at her skin. She tugged at the sleeves when she couldn't bear it anymore, breaking from her duties, and as she pulled back the sleeve, the man observing her caught a glimpse of her tattooed wrist. It was of a sigil that swirled and whorled within a circle of scripture, a language ancient, unintelligible to both her and himself. Odd. The ticking of time, a reminder that she had to get on with things, she wouldn't fall behind when more work awaited her. Janelle, chief librarian, wouldn't tolerate slowness, even though the library commanded no great audience as a forum, and so she turned around. She saw no one there, which was funny, since she could've sworn she'd felt some kind of presence, even a set of footsteps.

She left the desk and looked around. No sign of anyone.

No, she knew someone was here, so she walked out, heading down the winding stairs and out into the misty morning, the cobblestone pathways all glittered with morning dew, the scent musky, cloying at her nose. Streets silent, near-empty save for those few early morning risers, cloaks pulled tight against the crisp morning chill, she could have sworn that someone else had been near.

There was a clinging sense in her mind that she just couldn't shake, a kind of infection that unnerved her. As she stared around, she heard whispered prayers to their idol and people off shopping, it was market day and the business district would be bustling with market stalls, peddlers and patrons alike. The grand stone structures of the residential district loomed above her, like sleeping gargoyles, casting shadows as the sun slowly, lazily ascended, breaking through the thin wisp of cloud cover.

Tall buildings, small building, grand buildings all housing the humble residents of Fortuna city, and beyond, a separate mining village lay behind the city. A few miles out, other residencies lay scattered between the city, the village and the thick forest, privatised, secluded homes for those with wealth.

She saw no one, not a trace of anyone. She looked around and decided to turn back around, re-entering the public library, the tall stone-white structure standing proud and regal against the grey buildings lining the remainder of the boulevard. Large bold lettering in black hung atop the vaulted roof the building, resting above the double oak doors, welcoming all into its arms.

A scripture etched into the wooden panes of each door, words Janelle had insisted be carved there, dangerous words really, or at least in Emilia's perception. Truth was dangerous in the right context.

"Ipsa scientia potestas est."

Translation: "Knowledge itself is power"

She went back inside and travelled up the long and winding stairs yet again. A part of her really disliked having to make this journey for what was technically the third time that day.

The crisp comforting aroma of leather greeted her once more as she entered through the double oak doors.

With a deep, steadying breath, she walked back in but found an odd sight before her. A man was standing behind her desk, and he was reading a book she had laying out.

"Hey!" She called to him.

Man stared up at her with frosty blue eyes, a perfect wedding of masculine glare and inhuman frigidity.

"Not many libraries are up to date on contemporary demonology and legend. Reluctantly, I admire your selection." He said.

She paused, wondering what he meant by this.

"Wha- I'm sorry, but you can't be back there." She gushed in that guise of sweet Liberian, still strict no matter how young.

Mother help her, she swallowed as her eyes fell on the mass, breath catching back in her throat. She, like most, enjoyed appreciating a beautiful man and there were so few handsome men to appreciate here in Fortuna, but the word handsome certainly didn't do this man justice. She needed a new word, probing her brain for the perfect term: divine, striking, adonis-like. She blinked to clear her rambling thoughts, yes he was all those things. He stood regally, his broad shoulders held high and proud, his pale skin serving to highlight those baby blues that stared so deeply in her soul, white hair slicked back into comfortable spikes atop his head, sharpening his features and adding that final touch to the frigid workings wrapped around him.

"You shouldn't leave your post. It's not good custom for a librarian of your stature." Cold brutal words, her eyes narrowed at his tone, his dismissal as he turned his back on her.

The stranger left the desk as requested and turned on down to a hallway. Her temper prickled at his rudeness, she turned on her heels, back to her trolley piled with books, glancing every now and then unable to control herself. He was the only one in there, otherwise she would have 'customarily' shut him down with a corrective 'shush!' That always made quick work of her patience, unprovoked discourtesy.

"You work here, yes?" Words to her right said, the same man as before.

Emilia ground her teeth, chanting a mantra over and over within her head.

Pleasant smile, kind words, pleasant smile, kind words. No swearing, no swearing.

"Yes, do you need assistance, sir?" Good girl, she swivelled to face him, the tone of her voice suitably professional.

He looked bored, his face like blank parchment.

"I'm looking into the history of Sparda," gah, his voice was a sensual caress, silky, smooth and full of ice, a shiver ran the length of her spine.

"W-well, you're sort of in the right aisle, but the only historic references available for public consumption is within Fortuna's historical record, not the myth and legend section." She said to him, her violet eyes a reminder of the starry night sky and all the colours his paranormal eyes could see across that endless expanse. The cosmos beyond earth was a grand sea of nothingness, simply occupied by the occasional celestial body and the all-too-human elements of hydrogen, barium, helium and technetium, floating through that void, lonely leviathans of the northern galaxy.

And when she'd guided him out of the astronomy section and the accepted sciences by the board of order members, finally they arrived at history.

Skipping each title until she found what she sought, her pale fingers plucked the book from the shelves , opening the volume to check the index, then holding it out for him to see.

"Okay. This one has the largest section on Sparda." She waited patiently as he stepped, gliding with such a steady aristocrat's gait she almost sighed.

Wake up idiot, her inner voice was a lovely thing, so audacious. She blinked excessively, feeling impatient as he took his sweet time.

He cast his eyes upon the page, his mouth a tight line.

Looking back up at her, "This is generic, just Hallam's work reworded, I know all of this."

She pursed her lips together and rolled her tongue in her mouth as she decided what to respond with.

"Um, well sir, then give me specifics. What do you want to know? You said history," She motioned with her hand to the book, patience thinning.

Unusual.

She normally never lost her temper this easily. What was it about this man that was grating under her skin?

"Well, I need more specific history then." He said.

Breathe, Emilia.

"That . . . is all known history . . . with regards to Sparda." Spacing out the words was all she could do to keep calm.

Calm yourself, she knew in her heart of hearts that would do no good, and he offered her a sharp look, his lip curling with distaste.

"Perhaps you know of more restrictive texts, ones pertaining specifically to time periods not documented by John Joseph Hallam or Robert Alvarez."

Much better, she could work with specifics.

This library served as a place of public knowledge but it had also once been a museum, not on this floor, but below in the chambers beneath her feet. Housed within were many historical artefacts and exhibits purportedly dating back thousands of years, some even contained remnants of magic. But she only knew of one book, kept sealed within a glass cabinet, an original work said to be written by Sparda himself, or so the rumour went. No one touched it, ever, not one human, not one spirit. Entry to the lower levels was off limits, all entrances that once existed were now sealed by Cecil, a powerful elderly Mage, and the only other wielder she knew of who had once dwelled within Fortuna, he had also been a high standing civilian among the people and once worked as a curator here in the library.

Now, the one who ran things was Marius, a member of the Order of The Sword. He too was a mage of worldly experience, but it was no use hiding that cruel streak of his.

He was the big boss above Janelle's pale angel, an assessor of her work with cold disdain, and her temper ticked every time she thought of him. But even Marius couldn't hold a candle to this man, he riled her like no other with a simple look. She dealt with all manner of people on a daily basis, some had poor attitudes, others looked down on the staff with pompous righteousness, but it never bothered her.

Vergil was the only one close to him.

One look from this guy and she was near seething.

She saw no reason to inform him of the book, the old museum was common knowledge, and if he was sharp-witted enough in his pursuit of knowledge, he'd ask the local residents and they could tell him.

A saccharine smile spread at her lips, her eyes no doubt alight, "I'm afraid not, so it's either that book or nothing."

Emilia's gaze lowered itself to the tome in his hands and back up to his perfectly chiseled face.

His eyes narrowed slightly, "Is that so?"

She seized the book, intent to take it back, uncaring that he gripped it in his brown-gloved hand, only his fingers visible. Her fingers grazed his hand, and her magic, usually kept well in check dampened down, came unstuck within her, sparking wondrous and unethical sensations. A warning bell peeled through her, causing such an alarm she jerked her hand away quickly, her breath stilled.

He was no man, at least not wholly.

A Devil clawed beneath his skin, just as magic thrummed within her own veins, swimming within her lifeblood, so too did demon blood run through his.

She smoothed her features, it was likely he now knew she was no mundane human herself.

It was impossible to decipher whether or not he may have detected her magical energy upon contact, but if he had, his face nor eyes betrayed him. Some of her ancestors spoke of a race of beings known only as Fey. It was wildly speculated that magic wielders, or more accurately, humans blessed with magical affinities, were descended from interracial relations between Fey and Humans.

A load of shit, made up by some pompous high-standing Warlock or Mage to give magic wielders the esteem of grandeur, to divide primitive minds further, when in fact it seemed more likely to Emilia, especially as she peered at this devil before her, that magic Wielders were the result of relations between human and some kind of demonic presence many thousands of years ago. Perhaps some truth lay within her ancestors stories, perhaps a species or subset of demon were called Fey, some rogue branch of evolution, but who could really know such things?

It was easy in this city, the people led simple lives, driven by a desire to praise and serve their God, they knew not of the olden times and its remains in the aether, the affectation of its presence across all things. How they came to serve a demon with godhood, to love and praise his name in a collective breath at his alter, she didn't know, fact and fiction were blurred, even to these people the records stated only that Sparda freed this city from demons, serving thereafter as a feudal lord. Fey might've originated from him, but that wasn't as likely as some others thought.

She had few friends here, in fact she could count them on one hand. This wasn't her true home, there were no childhood memories here for her to recall.

Maybe this was the reason as to why she thought of the Fey, pondered the origins of her existence further back across the lineages or her heritage.

It was a home for who she was now, though she struggled to cut through the many facets of Emilia to find her true self beneath all the facades.

She breathed out a dry sound that may have been a strangled laugh, shaking her head free of her own melancholy, she squared her shoulders and regained her composure.

History was often muddied and contained half-truths and hearsay passed down through generations. Though Emilia did enjoy reading such texts, if only to keep boredom at bay, it was all an attempt to pick apart fact from fiction. Her resolve hardened, no she wouldn't inform him of the book, concealed at the lowest levels of the library, underground, sleeping undisturbed, save for whatever manner of vermin or insect found entry.

Emilia was not a grand mage, nor particularly gifted in the art of spell craft, she worked with magical, mystical energy, twisting and shaping, moulding and crafting it to her own moods.

However she willed it, she could sense and control it, read it if she tried hard enough. Only very rarely did she partake in her craft, choosing to live as normally and peacefully as possible.

Of course, that changed if the absolute need arose.

Locking gazes with him, she ignored the tingle, "-I don't know of any other works apart from the standard texts."

Did he realise she just lied blatantly to his face? Once more, it was just a stonewall of nothingness, blocking out all attempts to read the emotion behind those blue eyes.

And she didn't care, she turned her back on the demon and walked away. Conversation over.

To be continued...


	2. Parabol

Disclaimer: I do not own Devil May Cry or affiliated Characters.

Authors Note: a huge thank you to my Beta Angel Wolf for an amazing job.

2 – Parabol

Sheets of heavy rain obscured his vision, drenching his pale hair as thick swirling black clouds hung over the city. Hues of deep scarlet, spectral orange, and vibrantly royal purple stained the remnants of the light in the sky as the rain sharpened and the night time weather closed in, biting relentlessly as lightning forked across the sky to illuminate the landscape in brief offerings. It was a reprieve from the creeping cover of darkness enveloping the city, the steady-slow grumble of thunder shattering the silence, in turn, rising in a gradual crescendo from a distant hum to a raging roar.

Distant cries of frightened children could be heard as he stood under the cover of a typical red and white striped shop canopy, the man awaiting the heavy downpour to abate. Alas, there was little more he could do to escape the leadened rain when a massive breath blew in a vicious swath, thick ribbons of water surging on the gusts of wind and drenching him to the bone.

The city streets were empty.

Not a soul laid in sight, all of them hiding away from the storm in their homes. The hour grew late, he had intended to re-visit the library before the monsoon blew in, stranding him here beneath the canopy overhang. The little Witch had omitted information intentionally, this much he was aware of. She had known there was a book once in residence here within the old museum, below the library, and perhaps it still resided there, he did not know for sure since any attempt to find entry to the lower levels had failed. The text in question was something he'd been hunting after, unsure of its existence but he hoped the small town here would at least enable him the access he so desired.

There was something wrong with this city. He could sense something underground, a kind of force that beat back anything which tried to cross its threshold.

Magic. It was keeping the lower levels impenetrable, even to a devil such as he; likely then that the Witch's sorcery could only be reversed by her own hand or with the aid of another's spellbound touch. He realised then also that she would be key to accessing these restricted areas, only known to him due to the presence of the barriers sealing them in the first place. Vergil did not think it ideal that he would have to rely on charisma to accomplish this goal. Idle threats wouldn't help his cause, not on a woman like her. To garner her cooperation, he would have to figure a way to persuade this Witch to lift her spell, willingly. He'd seen the temper spark within those star-flecked eyes, shattering the image she painted of sweet innocence. She was a great pretender.

Blending in with these pious city-dwellers was no simple task, and at first glance, she was a chameleon camouflaging herself.

Another flash of lightning flared, this time illuminating the entire sky with a burst of violet, impressing deep purple unto the clouds momentarily, the vivid bolt not unlike the colour of that Witch's eyes.

There's an idea . . . Was she the one who'd conjured the storm?

The more he thought on it however, the more he doubted it.

And yet, as if a single thought had summoned her, the next spark enlightened her visage across the street, her cloak clinging to her frame dripping a puddle around her bare feet. Dark curls stretched with the weight of her sodden hair. Typical Witch, basking in Mother Nature's contempt. Blue eyes followed her steady amble along the cobblestone pathway, shoes in one hand and her bag in the other, in her element it seemed. A glazed, faraway expression painted her face, the young pythoness basked in the downpour, despite her drenched state.

Without second thoughts, Vergil put his inhuman speed to good use, a blur of blue streaking across the short distance from one side of the cobbled avenue to the other past olden cars and distraught simple folk. This rotting place was behind the times. How could any one of these cretin's live this way, so beholden to the dark times from which man had already came? These vehicles looked nearly a century old, ripped straight from the 1930s. Passing them by was an easy task, none of them could break fifty miles per hour. Passing by these hopeless fools, he knew himself to be a man of the cold light of reason, bathing in its strident gold while humans threw themselves into the cold dark by choice. With each passing day, empathy left him for these dull creatures, he sought instead to protect only those that mattered to him.

And in the cold rain, there he emerged behind her, masked by the roar of sudden thunder. The bountiful woman danced around, her thick hips swaying hypnotically as he followed her closely. She hadn't even noticed him as the man walked onward. She walked along through the alleyway that bled on to the outskirts of town where she held residence. The storm quieted and a second set of footsteps accompanied her silent ones. She froze in place, her back stiffening, the Witch aware someone followed her into this dark knight.

She made no attempt to glance behind her, clearly having already sensed who stood behind.

"Enjoying the rain too?" She twisted to look at him, water drops pouring down her face. Those eyes burned in the shadows.

Outwardly the woman was calm, yet he could hear the rhythm of her heart raise second by second, and it wasn't the quickening beat of fear as other arrogant devils would assume, only a steadied beat.

The man angled his head assessing the state of her mind.

Her eyes fluttered and she frowned, looking off elsewhere into the night sky as another jolt of electricity struck a weathervane.

It gave him pause to wonder how she could find such joy, soaked to the core, watching lightning and listening to thunder tear through the heavens.

"First storm of summer, it's a given for my kind to enjoy it." She informed him, brushing back her waterlogged hair from her forehead and out from her eyes.

Silence purveyed their interaction, his cold eyes fixed on hers.

"You lied to me, Witch." Her attention swivelled back to him, a rosiness afflicting her cheeks. His gaze hurt like no other, pinning her in place.

The wheels were turning in her mind, he could see that much, and he thought for a moment she would deny his claim.

"Three days," she murmured and he raised a brow, "That's how long it took you to realise."

Bemusement glistered in his eyes, he didn't find her game amusing.

"Your troublesome spell is in my way: remove it." He had neither patience nor interest in playing any games, and her eyes narrowed at his order, like they had in the library before she'd lied to his face.

He could hear her heartbeat tick up as his words settled over her. She blinked, once, twice, surprise lining her face, and she chuckled with a shake of her head.

"I'm flattered that you think of me so highly," She said, smiling at him disingenuously, and he ground his jawbones together. She was beginning to grate on his nerves, but he wouldn't let her know that. Oddly, it wasn't something that happened often with people, most everyone avoided him all together since he had no interest in maintaining meaningless associations. They were a waste of time, superficialities to fill up time.

"On the contrary, I think nothing of you. Remove the boundary."

She shook out her hair like some animal and bit her lip contemplating her next words. "Can't," she wiped her hand over her face, "it's not my Spell."

She turned from him content to walk away. When she'd turned all the way away, he stood still in front of her, as though he'd always stood there.

Her back tensed up and she stepped back away from him.

Strangely, as he searched her face, his unfeeling gaze moving to meet her eyes, he found no reason not to believe her words, she was being truthful in this instance.

"What?"

"It's-. . . It's not my spell. I didn't cast it." She said as she grabbed her shoulder.

"Tell me who did then." His voice was malice as he watched her blink away the calm and he would push her if need called for it, whatever it took to gain access to his goal. At this point, his drive outweighed honour, he was willing to use any tactic that would be to his advantage. She swallowed, straightened her shoulders, her expression hardening, and that temper flickered on again. Apparently she didn't like it when he made demands, he sensed her displeasure at his tone and understood she didn't like being ordered around. This was good, he was getting to know her, getting to know all about her. It suited a certain fascination for him.

"I have no idea. Me and other sorcerers, we don't really mix." He would've let her leave, may have even taken her words for truth, had she not lied before.

Her heartbeat quickened, thrumming like the wings of a hummingbird. Now there was the fear.

Watching her carefully he noted how she absently tucked a lock of her wet hair behind an ear, once, twice, three times, the same lock of hair behind the same ear.

Together coupled with the racing of her chest and the Devil's own instincts told him that she was lying once again.

He leashed back his compulsion to growl and gave her no warning as he seized her wrists and threw her up against the stone building, pinning her there in place. She squeaked in surprise, her breath hitching as he leaned in closer to her wispy face, hands now braced either side of her, boxing her between his body and the wall behind them. So low was he that he used violence against a woman? No, she was no woman, she was only a Wiccan seed through which evil could prosper. Time was all he could lose at this point if he kept humouring this wench.

"It's impolite to tell lies." He enunciated and spoke slowly so she could hear each word.

Damn if his voice wasn't velvet . . .

"W-What—" She started, but the slayer cut her off with a freezing glare, and she shuddered beneath him, her warmth soaking into him.

Something stirred deep within but he ignored it, pushed it aside and focused on goals.

"You think a Devil like me can't tell when he's being played a fool?" He enunciated each word slowly silkily, closing the gap between them.

Shadows bathed over them like the earth's milk, crooked flashes from the sky illuminating e'er so often the dingy backstreets. He could see the heat rising upon her cheeks, her pupils dilating soon after. And her breaths, they quickened themselves as he drew closer to her, invaded her personal space. She couldn't move with him that close. The edge of satanic majesty stood before her, not that she could even understand that, misguided mortal.

Gauging her reactions to his proximity, she knew she couldn't move even if she tried, so stood frozen in place, her eyes fluttering with nervous energy. Her scent screamed at him.

A chilly smile tugged at his lips and she hissed a breath, shoes once clasped within her fingers clattered to the floor. His eyes followed their descent and trailed slowly back up over her body, appreciating how her garments clung to the figure of her measurements. He reached her face again and shook the intrusive feeling aside, refocusing on the goal of finding what he sought, that was all that mattered in the end. And it was the only reason he deigned contact with this human woman.

"Now, tell me, who cast the spell?" He glimpsed her internal turmoil as she avoided his eyes, the creasing of her throat as she swallowed.

"I don't know. I really don't know." Her breathless murmurs were urgent, but she'd lost resistance. Those eyes had simply done their job.

His calculating eyes sunk, becoming sullen.

He angled his head beside hers, his lips trailing by her left ear, and she struggled to catch her breath.

Sometimes he forgot how fragile humans were. He didn't often exploit his allure, he wasn't in the habit of chasing after women, his grand ambitions lay elsewhere. The path laid out before him tended not to include interactions with the opposite sex. He whispered for her to close her eyes. She began to struggle beneath him, attempting to duck under his arms braced either side of her, he shifted forward bracing his knee between her legs, and strengthening his arms so they would not budge, trapping her in place.

"I think you do." He said, his voice laced with silk, her eyes became burning sex as he traced a single finger along her jawline, her lips parting in response.

"You will tell me . . . Perhaps not now," his touch ended at her chin, his lips inches from her parted mouth, "Perhaps not tomorrow, but you will tell me."

For a single frozen moment, he thought she might close the distance and kiss him as her gaze lowered to his lips.

After such a long silence, she finally found her voice, "there's nothing to tell." She inched closer, challenge rising in her fiery eyes, violet flames flickering, "You're only wasting your time."

Drops of water pooled at her chin on his fingers, rain continuing to fall in thick sheets, soaking the both of their hairs and skin, the chilling cold faded out of reality, only heat rising between them. Heaven's tears couldn't withstand that heat, evaporating into mist around them, the witch's flames and the devil's hellfire.

"I doubt that." He murmured, the tip of her nose skimmed his cheek, and the touch was like static.

She pushed against him, trying anything to wriggle free, "Let me go."

Her voice was harsh, bereft of air as she struggled, and he released his hold on her arms and backed away from her.

Her violet eyes glared at him, furiously burning, "You are a bastard."

He offered her a smirk and watched the fury and desire fight one another inside of her eyes.

"Such things you say, Emilia." Her name a gentle caress on his lips, and her confusion pleased him, he'd been watching her since yesterday. He straightened his jacket and simply stepped back into the shadows behind, slowly fading from her view till all that remained were his blue eyes glistening in the darkness, leaving her to stare, furious, riled and utterly flabbergasted. His eyes remained, silence hanging in the air. A flash of lightning struck and illuminated the dark alleyway.

All of him vanished from sight.

The darkness returned and she was alone.

To Be Continued


	3. Christian Woman

Author’s note: I do not own Devil May Cry.  
Apologies for the long wait, real life has a tendency to get in the way sometimes. A massive thank you to my Beta reader Angel Wolf.

3 ~ Christian Woman

Silence exhaled deep breaths along the lonely, desolate aisles of Fortuna's library, deep groans echoed throughout the building like phantom pain, filling the emptiness, sending shivers down the lone librarian's spine as she glanced about every few seconds. She continued scouting for stragglers who hadn't yet vacated the old building. The scholars usually overstayed their welcome and needed ushering away. Paranoia had sown its way into her mind ever since those frozen eyes had dared to look upon her.

Dusk was upon the city, and tonight, Emilia had taken the late shift, so it was her responsibility to close the library. This also presented an opportunity to approach the current curator Marius regarding a certain devil prowling the city. The man seemed so closed off, Marius, that she never knew quite the precise way to talk to him. Though she would ordinarily loath to approach the Mage, truly, in this particular case, she had limited options. When it came to seeking advice regarding the supernatural, Marius, to her knowledge, remained the only Mage within the vicinity the violet-eyed woman might turn to when the occasion called for it.

Once upon a time, she would've turned toward Cecil for wisdom, to be her confidant and advisor. These days, Cecil laid at peace beneath the hallowed earth, leaving only one alternative.

Cecil's passing had left a glaring, gaping hole in her life, and she missed him dearly. Stiffening her posture, the young witch stalked the aisles with renewed determination. Despite the morose atmosphere bearing down upon the desolate institute, a chill crept into her as she drew closer to the curator's office. Gooseflesh prickled upon her usual skin as she faced the heavy oak door, hesitant, and Emilia stood with her arm outstretched. Her hand touched the door handle and she gulped.

Around the secluded study, dim lights flickered, casting grim shadows upon the wood-paneled walls.

One deep breath later, Emilia managed to muster the courage, and she proceeded to knock three times upon the thick entrance, hand resting upon the brass handle, awaiting voiced permission to enter.

A drawn-out silence was the reply.

With another rap on the wood, a heavy thud split the silence. Violet eyes narrowed with a release of breath, frustration began creeping to the surface.

Heavy footsteps sounded from within, padding across the multi-hued wooden floor. The surrounding woodland- as was the custom, served as the source for this decorative flooring, Fortuna craftsman and builders exemplified using natural resources, building with materials sourced from the surrounding islands. Slowly, the oak door cracked open, a pale, rounded, weary face peeked through the small opening. Dark eyes found Emilia and flashed with relief. Slowly, dark brows drew upwards as relief was replaced by surprise.

"Emilia, this is a pleasant surprise . . . please, come in." Dark eyes frantically searched the study area behind them, as Marius opened the door wider to allow her entry.

Through sly observations, the witch noted each nervous twitch of the plump man before her, and, upon his brow laid a thin sheen of sweat that glistened in the low lighting.

"You seem shaken, is everything alright?" Her inquisition was met with silence.

He stared off at a gold-encased painting that hung upon the wall by his black bookcase.

"What can I help you with?" His deep voice broke her distraction, a thick dark eyebrow raising itself in consternation.

The usually clean-shaven man sported days worth of growth. What had happened to take him so far from the polished look the holy man usually bore?

Nervous energy bubbled within the the pit of her stomach.

Thoughtfully, Emilia voiced her question, "There's a man that's come here, a half-Demon."

Strangely, Marius reflected no surprise at her words, appearing neither concerned nor interested in her admission.

Was he already aware? She held his gaze momentarily, unflinching as he stared her down.

"Need I be concerned regarding his presence here?" Despite his overbearing stature, the witch did her best to hold her ground, "Sparda's spawn is the least of our worries."

His words hit her before she could register them. Unbelievable that she hadn't connected the dots herself, though it explained at lot. The raw power radiating Vergil's aura, not to mention his aristocratic arrogance. Sparda . . . The legend behind that name itself spoke volumes, let alone the destiny left behind for whoever was left to take upon the mantle. But the thing about it that struck her most as odd was that Sparda had . . . children. She hadn't heard much of anything regarding a son, hadn't he disappeared long ago? Humans elsewhere simply believed him to be a myth, a hollow echo of what once was eons and eons ago, but herself and others of the covens, they still knew.

The thick man lowered himself into his cushioned chair, the old thing a regal antique of the Victorian era, his palms planted flat upon the mahogany desk.

He held a grim expression that blanketed his features.

A sudden ripple of dread overcame the violet eyed witch, as dark pools of obsidian settled upon her, thin lips tight. She watch the look of fear brewing within Marius' eyes, noting the slight tremble of his fingers as he idly shuffled the papers on his desk. What it must be to be detached as he was. His eyes were sunken in, looking deathly, and she wondered even now if he were still alive. The extradition of his thoughts was a process she felt to be agonizingly slow, and the wrinkles in his face told her a story she hoped never to hear.

"Well, since you know, he seems to be seeking something." The witch said, her frame frozen, face draining itself of color as she stared unblinking.

A slight tremble in her arms, a cold sweat breaking upon her brow, the raging beat of her heart as his words settled upon her; she felt fear but couldn't figure out why.

"Are you certain?" Silence descended between the pair, thick and heavy. Marius's expression portrayed the seriousness of his words.

There had been whispers of strange happenings outside of Fortuna, the traveling merchants carried news from far and wide. Tales of gruesome murders having been a hot topic as of late, the stories usually involved gruesome creatures summoned from shadow. Hearsay and conspiracy, she was sure. Emilia had thought little of it, distracted by her modern dilemmas. Not to mention merchants often enjoyed spinning such horrifying tales to attract custom and sell wares assuring their trinkets could offer protection from such threats. All utterly useless of course, unless spelled or blessed by a Wiccan, and subjecting the trinkets to additional inspection herself, Emilia knew they offered no such promise.

Fear: Deep and unadulterated.

Fear saturated the young witch. Her palms began to sweat, her breaths quickened- the first signs of panic began to creep in, a fight or flight battle raging within.

Unsteady fingers grasped the edge of the desk, violet eyes hardened as the woman faced the Mage, her mouth a tight line.

"Tell me everything." She implored, trepidation lining the tone of her voice.

*

Following several days of searching the city, infiltrating the Order Of The Sword to discover more about Sparda, the half demon returned once again to Fortuna library to seek out the Witch. Irritation filtered through him these last few days, his thoughts often turning to the violet-eyed woman, more so within the quiet hours when he was otherwise unoccupied. The hour was late upon his return, the streets darkening with the cloak of night. Around him, the cobblestoned walkways were bathed in shadows as the calls of the nocturnal creatures resounded from the surrounding forest, the chorus of damnation rippling through the silence.

The Summer heat had begun dwindling away to Autumn's chill. Once-green leaves slowly shriveled and browned, marking them to soon fall upon the ground. A strong gust of wind began to rise.

The man rested his back against the building opposing the library silently, patiently waiting for a certain crone to exit the front doors.

Wood groaning alerted him to her exit, blue irises scanning the figure emerging across the street. Her form was shrouded by a dark cloak, the material pooling at her ankles like liquid. The woman hurried from the building along the darkening streets and Vergil followed silently, his eyes examining the paths Emilia took. Veering to the left down a brick road, the woman slipped into an unlit winding alleyway between a slew of buildings. This damned town was a labyrinth.

Her steps quickened as she hurried through the street, head turning left and right in jerky motions. Her scent rife with agitation- no, fear. It stung Vergil's nostrils.

His lip curled as the scent of fear increased, her steps harried and brisk, so preoccupied, it seemed, that the woman hadn't noticed the man silently trailing her steps.

Having become accustomed to Emilia's disposition, the current radiating from her seemed uncharacteristic. His mind briefly wondered what had changed while he'd been away.

Vergil continued following her, undetected as she flew through the dark alley, out onto another silent street and veered to the right, the residential district flooded with the warm glow of light from the many houses and private apartment buildings that lined the way. He knew her place of residence, of course, as Vergil had taken particular care to know as much about the woman as possible. It would be tacitly foolish not to learn her habits. This wily creature fascinated his alien mind as no other human had.

He knew, through his observations, that she filled her days with work. Her nights were spent alone within her small apartment, often reading books and drinking wine, or out on the small rooftop garden tending to the various potted plants. Sometimes, she would gaze off into the distance, lost within deep musings that he almost . . . almost wished to decipher. Though why Vergil felt such inclinations, he couldn't say, it grated on his nerves to no end. The intensifying stench of fear, wafting from her as she approached the drab three-story building she called home, rapidly accelerated its escalation, her beating heart thunderously racing. The witch fumbled for her keys, and they slipped through her slick fingers, landing at her feet with a jingle.

Her growl of frustration was halfhearted as she leaned forward to pluck the bronze keys from the ground, trembling fingers fumbled to unlock the door. From the distance came the sound of a door slamming. It cracked through the air, and Emilia jolted in surprise, the keys slipping from her hand again. Barely suppressing a growl of disappointment, Vergil made his presence known to the young witch, those limpid pools as vast as a galaxy full of stars, lacking the usual luster, met his glacial gaze.

A sneer curled upon his lips.

"I don't have the energy to deal with you right now." Exhaustion was clearly present.

Upon further assessment, he noted dark shadows beneath her eyes, stark against ashen skin. She was paler since last they'd met.

"What's the matter? You're less plucky than usual, you seem on edge." He said sarcastically, mocking her pain.

Vivaciously, she jammed the key into the lock and pushed open the door, disregarding him altogether.

Emilia paused for reasons unknown to her. Tension ran through her like a chord of music. Slowly, she glanced back at the demon.

"Why are you still here? To be frank, I thought you'd given up by now . . . wishful thinking, perhaps." She tried to mask the quiver in her voice to little avail.

Vergil observed the witch closely, fear-filled waves radiating from her, and so his level of disgust began to rise.

"You maybe lowly on the social totem pole, but you are first-class in pathetic. Tell me, what's gotten under your skin?" He dragged out the syllables and his expression remained blank.

She turned sharply, a small fire blazing with her cosmic-flecked gaze, "If it offends you so, then leave."

Her stare was challenging, that temper reining over the deep-rooted fear. A kindling of those flames he knew burned within her, a blaze which appealed to him on some level, regardless of how he denied it consciously. He refused to cower, it simply wasn't in his nature. Leave? Ha, surely a jest. Curiosity ruled him currently, the man edged closer to the woman, his gaze cold and piercing. The dim glow from the apartment entrance emphasized her pale face, highlighting the fatigue that was so very obvious.

He leashed the growl rumbling within his throat and without thought, his hands fixed themselves firmly against her upper arms.

He shoved her against her door, and she felt him press into her backside before twisting her around to face him fully.

She tried to jerk herself away from his hold, but she seemed to hold herself back. It was as though a part of her didn't want him to let go of her. She failed to push him away and a drawn out sigh escaped her lips, the fire which had stirred only moments ago fluttering out. Forlorn, entirely defeated by her fear, she quickly gave up fighting his hold. It was pointless to deny him.

Her unexpected vulnerability presented him with the perfect moment.

Her eyes lifted to meet his once again, "You want a medal? You've got me pinned to my door, big deal. You found me." Her voice hitched and she flinched at the slamming of a door from across the street. A neighbor unconcerned with her whatsoever.

"The seeker will soon arrive and the game be finished." She muttered without hope.

He was quite sure she wasn't addressing him specifically, more like mumbling her inner-thoughts, yet he understood the meaning of her words. Emilia had mentioned something similar once before, and it became abundantly clear to Vergil that this witch was camouflaging herself here, hiding away among the pious citizens of Fortuna; hiding in plain sight. From what, or whom she was hiding, held little interest for Vergil. Presently, he had need of the woman, and therefore, any attempt at harming her would not be tolerated.

He lowered his head so their stares were level.

"I can't have you running off again from a silly little feud in your past. Regrettably, I require something of you. Luckily, that also means you begrudgingly have my protection."

Her eyes flared and she blinked at him, disbelief written on her face.

"You seem surprised by this kindness I've extended. It is only temporary." He assured her, "Therefore, for the time-being, you should fear nothing and no one."

Emilia remained quiet, her eyes searching Vergil's.

"Your protection?" She scoffed, eyes narrowing, "Trust me when I say this," she leaned forward in his face, so close their noses almost touched, the light touch of her breath brushing his right cheek, "If he is in the mind to, he would not stop at killing me . . . this whole city would burn to ash. The women, men and children. All of it would be lost to time, like tears in the rain. I doubt he would fear even the son of Sparda."

Her knee jammed upwards between his legs. She hit what would have, on any other man, been the most sensitive extremity. He only grunted and his hold weakens for a fraction of a second. She pulled herself from his hold and pushed backwards through the doors into the foyer, darting inside the building as fast as she could. His patience finally snapping, Vergil bolted forward, bashing the door off it's metal hinges. She'd run up the stairs, he could smell her trail, and he wasn't far behind. He fled after her to the next floor.

Just barely, he caught sight of her in the process of slamming her door shut.

He rushed for the steadily closing the gap, and just barely, he managed to force his arm through, preventing her from closing it all the way.

She tried to force the door closed regardless, and so slammed it back against his wrist again. He felt weathered the pain and forced himself past it when she tried again.

He came inside her apartment and grappled her shoulders, and she pushed back against him. They struggled against one another, but he overpowered her. Her head hit the wall as he threw her against it. Pinning her in place once again, he seemed more feral, his eyes bloodshot and his teeth bared like an animal. Holding her gaze, he growled and snarled, coming closer towards her until his lips were at her ear, and he muttered in her ears like velvet.

"You doubt my power? No one will harm you but me, you have my word." The hatred was mutual.

And he came back to stare her down. Deepest pools of sapphire held a gaze of sensitive violet stars. Still as a statue, Emilia stared unblinking, digesting Vergil's words.

"No," she said softly, "I don't doubt you will honor your word, nor do I doubt your strength."

His hands loosened their hold, and his hard stare softened. It seemed the Devil had a soul after all, she saw it for just a moment. Pale fingers curled around his wrist, her touch gentle, her skin soft, eliciting a spark on contact. He felt a new sensation. Neither the witch nor the demon broke eye contact, a smoldering heated-charge ignited between them. His eyes spoke to her for the first time, and they said his name, 'Vergil.' They were sensitive, they were . . . almost innocent.

He inched closer, "My word is my honor. No harm will come to you."

A dusting of rosy warmth flooded the woman's cheeks and she swallowed with a small nod, knowing she was unable to utter a coherent verbal response.

The distance between them decreased, energy crackling down his spine, her thrumming heart skipping a beat, and Vergil leaned in further still, the two almost nose to nose once again. Emilia wished she could battle through the haze shrouding her mind. She didn't doubt his word to be untrue, but Vergil's declaration of protection had stunned her into silence. It seemed uncharacteristic of what she'd known of him prior. Further conflict entered her feeling towards him, somehow. Emilia had stumbled down the rabbit hole further than before. This demon, with his relentless perusal, in his quest to gain access to the library's lower levels, was baring on his sleeve more than she thought him capable of. And with his constant presence in her life now, she had unconsciously grown accustomed to his person.

A means to an end, you idiot, that's all you are to him. Ignoring this infuriating alarm sounding off in her head, the young witch cleared her throat.

"I-. . . I might be able to find a way through the warding." Biting her lower lip, she lifted her eyes, "I knew the Mage who cast the spell, I have his Grimoires . . . I'll help you get the book."

Emilia was astonished at her own words, as she stared into Vergil's ice-ridden gaze, taken by the seamless vision before her.

The air grew stifling around them as the pair slowly inched closer, unable to break from one another. Emilia found herself bereft of clarity. Her hands trembled as she reached out to touch the silky material of Vergil's Jacket. Her heartbeat roared in her ears, the rapid drumming nearly tearing its way through her chest. Her body acted on autopilot, almost against her will, as she closed the distance between them, and she claimed his lips. Her eyelids drifted off to close themselves. Vergil's embrace enveloped her like the sun, warmth flowing all around her, so incompatible with his eyes. She brushed her fingers through his pale locks and almost sighed with content. He pulled her close to him, and she felt what he'd been keeping secret from her. Her knees weakened, and he turned lustful, moving to her neck with blood-soaked kisses that set her on fire.

She grew animalistic, biting on his ear, pressing her lips to his cheeks as she wrapped her left leg around his and held on for dear life.

The panic and the fear evaporated, soothed away by his carnal love. She hated herself for it, but this was just the thing she needed.

All thoughts of the darkness hunting her fading away, her whole being consumed by this powerful entity, a man beyond men. This internal animal desired to be free, be free from herself, free of the dull society she'd forced herself to cohabitate with, and free of that vile man who would never cease to hunt her. And the solution? To give into the arms of another, different vile man.

To Be Continued


End file.
